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Old 01-31-2009, 04:14 PM
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Default Re: Almost Always

ALMOST ALWAYS
Despair Overtakes Us
– - –

You know that some men have killed and oppressed more than others and it seems to you that liberators are rarely as crafty as slaughterers.

– - –

how did YOU get here? and when did IT start?
an innocent child with a thorn in HIS heart

– - –

Sports have always been rather dull in your mind, but feeling his labyrinthine mind work through the steps and reflexes provides enough amusement to keep you interested for a time.

You would rather not confess, though, that you have grown into the habit of drifting away from the boy and watching Ugandan children fight over the placing of their bedrolls after the fifth bounce of the neon-lizard-green ball. When he wins, you drag yourself away from tragic faces to watch him beam.

– - –

what kind of world do WE live in?
where love is divided by hate
losing control of OUR feeling
WEre dreaming this life away

– - –

Blood bathes in his clothes and hair and skin and threatens to fasten his eyelashes together as it dries but he keeps going and destroying and taking and he just won’t stop!

The sky mocks him as it pours crystalline tears of white down onto the crimson and the orange, mocking him, kicking the guttural shout of “Did you come here to watch me burn?” (raggedly screamed at the sky just minutes prior) right back at his mouth in a spray of dirt. Already, the bodies of his enemies trip his feet and fire rages on all sides and smoke clogs his lungs as he wheels and shoots with more anger and panic and self-preservation etched into every line and plane of his body with each movement of his finger against the trigger; you fear for him, now, because an epiphany has just wormed its way beneath his façade and it may well be the very doubt that leads to his downfall.

He can die; that, he has always known.

Now, though, he is a target.

For a moment, you think he stares straight at you once more with those uncanny instincts flaring in the depths of his irises.

The flames are drowning him (at least he is warm) and he pulls back, searching the roiling fray frantically for a familiar uniform to latch onto as all semblance of command flees his body. He has reverted to humanity’s most basic mindset: survival. Embers and sparks flicker in his dark eyes as bullets scream around him; he crouches low, creeping towards the light of another’s flashlight and his stubbled face is shadowed by the flame-resistant mask the dream you sent him had hinted at–a hand reaches up and grabs the form in front of him by the shoulder, squeezing with no regard to the other’s comfort.

You don’t know when he made it to his knees, but he did, and the crawling soldier before him wheels around and reflexes kick into motion; a flash of movement and feral instinct and her eyes widen as she pulls her gun from her commander’s face.

“Penber,” he coughs through the red and orange and blue and grey, transferring his weight to her shoulder.

She gives him a grin that nearly matches the ones he so commonly dons, so raw is its savage despair. “Let’s get out of here, Sergeant.” And with that, she shoulders part of his burden, hoisting his arm over her shoulder and dragging their bodies inch by coughing, hack-filled inch with the flames and the steam of the would-have-been snow licking at their backs the whole way. He tries just as hard as she, but they’re just so weak and so tired and even in the flames–especially, especially in the fire–you are struck by how much he’s changed and ruined and repaired and how he’s so much like a rabid, wounded wolf now; nothing like that pitiful kitten you first remember being drawn to.

You give them a helping hand.

– - –

what kind of world do WE live in?
where love is divided by hate
selling OUR souls for no reason
WE all must BE dreaming this life away

– - –
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thegalleonman: (8:37:28 PM) How sad.
thegalleonman: (8:37:37 PM) I'm amused.
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